


Ryan Ross is Not A Girl

by Partypizzaparty



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Partypizzaparty/pseuds/Partypizzaparty
Summary: Ryan Ross is NOT a girl - no matter what the British papers say...In honor of Brendon’s recent interview, here’s a repost of a fic I wrote way back in the DYW days.





	Ryan Ross is Not A Girl

Intro  
Ryan Ross was not a girl.

When he was feeling intellectual, he’d tell himself that he was just doing his part to break down the rigid gender stereotypes that pervaded American society today. (When he was feeling intellectual, Ryan enjoyed using big words.) When he was feeling honest, he’d admit that he just thought he looked hot in makeup. And actual girls seemed to agree, so he really couldn’t see what the problem was.

Seriously though. He wasn’t a fucking girl.

*******************************************

Herein lies the exposition  
It was their day off. The first one in what felt like forever, and Ryan spent it sleeping, finally waking up at 5PM (Greenwich Mean Time). He picked up then threw aside three hoodies before settling on one that smelled slightly better than the others, ran a hand halfheartedly through his hair, and walked out to the lounge.

“Morning, sunshine,” Brent mumbled around a mouthful of food. Ryan said his hellos and scanned the table, searching for something edible, but most of the food looked, well…British.

Spencer looked up from his sidekick and nodded. Brendon and William were seated across from him, and it took only a quick glance to see they were at least 25% drunk. Again. (Or more likely, they were drunk still… Ryan didn’t remember hearing Brendon come back last night.)

“Finally. We’ve been waiting for you for a million years,” Brendon said. “You’ve got to read this. It’s our best review ever.”

Spencer let out a snort as William slid a newspaper across the table at him. Ryan picked it up and started reading, then stopped and started over again. Because for a second there, he’d almost thought that the article said-

“The reporter thought you were a girl,” Brendon said gleefully, and Ryan quickly weighed the pros and cons of punching him in the face. (Con: It might break up the band. Pro: He’d get to punch him in the face. It was a difficult choice.)

“This is a joke, right? You went out and had this printed up? It’s not funny. ”

“It is not a joke. It’s very serious. ‘Token girl Ryan Ross plays a guitar that almost seems too big for her,’” Brendon recited. Christ, he was obnoxious when he drank. Actually, he was obnoxious all the time.

“She called me Samuel Beckett,” William added. “It’s almost enough to make me question her journalistic integrity. I mean, she messed up my name and we all know you‘ve already become a woman. Calling you a girl, that’s just demeaning.” 

“I have not become a woman,” Ryan grumbled.

“No? Want me to help you out with that?” William asked, giving Ryan one of those looks that seemed to make girls immediately fall out of their clothing. All it did to Ryan was give him a slight headache.

“I… What? No… That doesn’t even make sense.” Ryan said, rubbing his temples wearily.

“He means that he’ll take your virginity,” Spencer volunteered. Ryan shot him a look. Spencer was supposed to be on his team. Spencer just shrugged, said “Whatever. I knew what he meant,” and returned to texting. Ryan decided this would be an excellent day to eat in his bunk.

“By the way, we’ve decided you’re coming out with us tonight,” Brendon said. 

“Wrong,” Ryan muttered, as he grabbed half a cheese sandwich off Spencer’s plate and headed to the back of the bus. “I am absolutely, positively not.”

*******************************************************************

In which a challenge is issued and Ryan reconsiders his sexual orientation

Several hours of arguing and pointed references to his femininity later, Ryan was slumped down in the back booth of a trendy club somewhere in Camden. He was not pleased. Watching everyone getting progressively more wasted was not his idea of a good time. He’d seen enough of that shit already, thankyouverymuch. Spencer had managed to worm out of going by saying he was having trouble with his girlfriend and needed to call her. William said he thought if anyone would be having ’female problems’, it would be Ryan. Ryan asked if William had ever heard the one about the pot calling the kettle black and William kissed him on the cheek and said, “You’re pretty when you’re being clever”. So now here he was. Sulking in the corner, listening to the entire road crew discussing the girl parts he allegedly had hidden in his girl pants.

“Aww, where‘s that smile, sweetheart? There’s lots of boys here willing to give you a good time,” said a guy Ryan only knew as Roadie Who Has Dreadlocks.

“Fuck off,” Ryan said through clenched teeth.

“Such shocking language from such a delicate flower,” said Guitar Tech Jon, batting his eyes. Ryan rolled his eyes and started to sniff disdainfully, then caught himself, tried to think of a more manly response, and decided to simply glare.

“Would milady care for a dance?” William asked, extending a hand. 

Ryan wondered if the murder laws were less strict in Britain. Maybe they had a clause here that let you off if it was justified. 

“Seriously, guys. It wasn’t funny two hours ago and it’s still not funny now. I’m not a fucking girl.”

Brendon, who had lost interest in this discussion somewhere around the six hour mark and who had spent the last twenty minutes leering at three girls with one haircut that were standing in front of their table, managed to drag his attention back to the conversation. “Yeah guys, he’s totally not a girl. I’ve seen his dick.” And of course, of course, he had to say that right during the moment of silence in between songs. And of course, of course, he hadn‘t so much ‘said‘ it as ‘shouted‘ it. At least fifty pairs of eyes suddenly swung around to gape at Brendon while Ryan did his best to shrink into the booth. 

(At the other end of the table, one of their roadies turned to another and said “Told you. You owe me 20 bucks, dude.”)

“No, I mean, like when we were changing. Don’t worry ladies, I’m totally into boobs,” he said, looking back towards the girls. He reached out to the nearest one, who was staring at him with a horrified look on her face, and attempted to kiss her hand. “Haircuts,” he said, waving a finger vaguely at them, before turning back to the table and picking up where he’d left off.

“But really though,” he addressed the group at large. “I’ve seen it. I mean, it’s really small, but it’s there.” There was entirely too much laughter at that, and Ryan mentally added the name of every single person at the table to his list of People Who Should Be Destroyed, with pole position currently being occupied by one Brendon Urie.

“It’s bigger than yours, asshole,” Ryan snapped, wondering for roughly the one millionth time why the fuck he’d agreed to come out with them.  
Brendon just grinned. “Nuh uh.”

“Yes hu- What are you, eight?!” 

“Eight inches, maybe,” Brendon laughed. “Unlike you.” He then proceeded to hold up his hand, his finger and his thumb three inches or so apart. Then he frowned and moved them closer. And that was it; that was fucking enough. Call him a girl if you had to, but some things Just Aren’t Right, and one of them is getting totally drunk and telling a room full of hipsters that a guy has a micropenis. There were girls listening. Girls who Ryan could maybe hook up with or at least make out with (hypothetically. if he ever stopped sulking in corners, that is). Ryan shoved Brendon out of the booth and dragged him back to the bathroom by the hood of his shirt. He slammed the door behind them, locked it, and rounded on Brendon. “What the hell, man?”

“Ow. You choked me in the neck,” Brendon pouted, rubbing the pink skin beneath where his shirt had been stretched out.

“Shut up. Seriously. Shut up.” Ryan replied. “What was that? Do you realize how fucking annoying you are when you drink?”

“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” Brendon said, shaking his head. “I was just telling the truth.” He leaned forward and poked him in the chest. “The truth is a very (poke) important (poke) thing (pause. poke).” 

“It’s not the truth, and I swear that if you poke me one more time, I’m going to kill you,” Ryan said.

“You are not, because I’m the singer and you can’t kill your singer,” Brendon replied. “And prove it.”

“People kill their singers all the time and what do you mean, ‘prove it’? I’m not gonna just… What?” 

“Show me,” Brendon said, still fucking grinning. “S’an experiment. We’re like… researchers… like Jane Goodall… or Einstein.”

Ryan started to say that he sincerely doubted Einstein did experiments like that and if Goodall did, she was one sick woman, but Brendon’s hands were already reaching over and undoing his belt, and the words died on his lips. Brendon pushed Ryan’s pants and boxers down his hips, cocked his head, tapped his chin thoughtfully, and said “Hmm.”

“Well, let’s see yours then, ” Ryan said, and the words were supposed to come out sarcastically, but he didn‘t think he quite succeeded. Brendon shrugged, undid his own fly, and let his jeans fall down to his knees. He looked down, looked across, and then smirked.

“I win.”

The bastard.

“That’s only because you can’t tell anything, because they’re not…” Ryan huffed and then trailed off. He should just stop talking right now. Pull up his pants and turn around and walk out and catch a taxi back to the bus, or a hotel, or anywhere else Brendon wasn‘t currently standing with his hips jutted to the side and one eyebrow raised. 

“Hard?” Brendon asked, his grin finally fading.. He took half a step closer, and Ryan backed into the wall. “You want to see who’s bigger when we’re both hard?”

Ryan didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. What could anyone possibly say to that? He quickly realized it didn‘t matter what he said, because he was already halfway towards the condition in question, and then Brendon’s hand was closing around it, around his dick, and oh shit, Brendon was jacking him off.

He stroked gently, and Ryan bit his lip because he was pretty sure that this wasn’t something that straight guys were supposed to do. Yeah, they always joked around about The Gay, but that‘s all it was, a joke. It was guys doing it for laughs and maybe also the girls who thought it was hot. Except now that he thought about it (now that he had another guy’s hand on his dick) maybe there was more to it then that, and all those little insinuations actually meant something. That was a thrilling and terrifying idea that he’d have to think about at some other time. Some time when Brendon wasn’t pulling Ryan’s hand away from the wall it had flattened against and wrapping it around his neglected cock. He felt guilty he hadn‘t thought of that himself, but Brendon made a quiet “Mmm” of approval and Ryan figured better late then never, started stroking, and closed his eyes. 

It felt good. Better than good. Brendon’s hand skidded across the skin of his cock, his touch lighter than Ryan usually used on himself. Brendon was hot and hard against his palm, and his lips hovered next to Ryan’s neck, breathing wetly against it, but never quite touching. Maybe that was an unwritten rule? You were allowed to get off with another guy as long as you didn’t kiss? Hell, maybe it was a written rule and everyone except him had gotten a copy of Clandestine Industries’ Guide To Being Not Entirely Straight. In any case, he was beginning to rock his hips into Brendon’s hand when it suddenly pulled away. Ryan opened his eyes.

“I still win,“ Brendon smirked, his voice low and rough as his eyes ran down Ryan’s body to his cock and then back up. Then he just stood there waiting, one hand rubbing slowly and absently down his own stomach, staring at Ryan. 

A quick war was fought in Ryan’s mind between dignity and need and when the battlefield was cleared and the casualties were buried, the words that tumbled out of his mouth were, “Please don’t stop. Just. Keep going. Please.” (Need 1, Dignity 0.)

There was no trace of surprise in Brendon’s eyes and Ryan thought that should piss him off because he really shouldn’t be so presumptuous, but then Brendon was sinking to his knees in front of him and he didn’t even know what ‘presumptuous’ meant anymore because every word that had more than one syllable had suddenly flown right out of his head.

It was just “fuck” and “god” and “bren” and “good”. It was Brendon’s tongue sliding slowly over the head of his cock while one hand curled lazily around the base. It was his other hand pinning Ryan’s hip to the graffiti-covered wall, holding him there when all he wanted to do was push, thrust, snap his hips forward. It was Ryan gasping for air, looking down at swollen lips stretched and flushed cheeks hollowed around him and it was without a doubt the best blowjob he’d ever had. 

And it was over really, really, embarrassingly quickly.

Brendon stood up, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder and lightly pushed him down. “Have to hurry, ok?” he said, and Ryan realized that there was probably a line outside the bathroom and oh god they were totally going to have to do a walk of shame, and oh god what if someone had a camera?! But then he thought, fuck them, because while he hadn’t been looking for this, while it hadn’t ever even crossed his mind (well, not more than a few…dozen times anyway), he had it now and he was taking advantage. Ryan Ross was no man’s fool.

He knelt down and shifted his legs apart, finding the right height and then leaning over to take Brendon in. He tried to imitate the things Brendon had done to him, but the (infuriating) truth was that Brendon actually was slightly bigger and it just wasn‘t working. So he just moved up and down, sucking, dragging his tongue along the length, digging his fingers into the backs of Brendon‘s pale thighs, surprised at how much he enjoyed the friction caused by Brendon’s cock sliding between his lips. Brendon’s hand was tangled in his hair and he was pushing Ryan’s head down as he pushed his hips forward and Ryan gagged and tried to pull back, offering up a silent apology to every girlfriend he’d ever had. 

He wasn’t great at this, probably not even good, but he figured he was doing ok, because when he glanced up, he saw that Brendon’s head was tipped back, his chest hitching as soft noises caught in his throat. A moment later, his eyes shifted down, meeting Ryan’s as he groaned, “I‘m…” But the warning was too late and when Brendon’s come hit the back of his throat, Ryan choked again, sputtering, coughing and spitting onto the floor. As he wiped the stray drops of come from the corner of his mouth, he could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment, because even if he wasn’t gay or whatever it was that sucking off another guy made you (actually, that probably made you pretty normal these days, he thought), he still wished he’d been awesome at it. And that? Definitely more awkward than awesome.

He stood up, his knees aching from the short time on the concrete floor, and adjusted his clothes with shaky hands, finally getting the button on his pants fastened on the third try. When he looked in the mirror, he saw pink cheeks and swollen red lips and hair that was sticking up everywhere and thought wryly that he might as well be carrying a flashing neon sign that said JUST GOT FUCKED!. He tried to flatten down his hair while Brendon finished tucking himself back into his pants, dryly stated, “Well, that was fun,” winked at himself in the mirror, unlocked the door and stepped out into the dark hallway. 

Ryan wordlessly followed him out, wondering if fun was really the right word. A tall boy with bad teeth and a worse afro shoved past him, muttering “Took you long enough, wankers”. 

They wove through the crowd and back to the table, and no one paid any attention to their return except William, who gave Ryan a look that either meant ‘Hey, could you tell me where the bathroom is?’ or ‘I know exactly what you just did. And I wholeheartedly approve.’

*********************************************************

Outro

The next morning at 11AM Greenwich Mean Time, over a breakfast of cold cereal, Brendon informed everyone that he was never getting drunk ever again.

The next evening at 7PM Greenwich Mean Time, over a dinner of cold cereal, William leaned over and whispered to Ryan, “You know, if you‘re really not a girl, I bet I‘m bigger than you too.”

Ryan felt his face heat up as he met William’s eyes.

“Prove it.”


End file.
